


Red Light

by SoulWriter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bird Bros - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Bucky is a motocross artist, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Motocross AU, Natasha is a motocross artist, One Night Stands, Rimming, Steve is a sporty agent, Stucky - Freeform, Tattooed Bucky, basically all the smut, serendipity&missed connection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulWriter/pseuds/SoulWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He put his foot down to balance his shiny black Ducati, the engine purring ready to sprint; he wanted the wind blowing through his clothing again as soon as the light was turning green. [...]<br/>A light tap and click at his right made him turn.<br/>I'll be damned-, he thought, taking in the view of the gorgeous cyclist who just pulled next to him. [...]<br/>All the sudden, the temperature inside his motorcycle helmet seemed to have raised to unbearable levels, and it wasn't just the bright sun above them to be blamed. The hottie cyclist turned to him, an arm's length away.</p><p>~This was actually based on irl flirting I witnessed!<br/>Bear with me as the plot builds up enough to sustain smutty scenes.<br/>Bucky is a motocross/dirt bike rider who was forced to retire to stunt shows after a big accident. He meets Steve at a stoplight, a military intelligence agent who likes cycling, rock climbing and parkouring. They don't exchange much information, but they keep meeting, inevitably drawn to each other.<br/>There's Clintasha in the mix - and also introducing a tiny bit of Sam Wilson x Maria Hill, 'Hillson'! If I can make you ship it just a tid bit, I'll be happy ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr](http://didipenny.tumblr.com/)  
> Related posts:  
> [x](http://didipenny.tumblr.com/post/88645630566/justcallmebuckybarnes-didipenny#notes)

He pulled up at the red light, swiftly passing the line of cars. He put his foot down to balance his shiny [black Ducati](http://i0.wp.com/hypebeast.com/image/2013/10/2014-ducati-1199-panigale-s-senna-edition-0.jpg?w=450), the engine purring ready to sprint; he wanted the wind blowing through his clothing again as soon as the light was turning green. All black leather attire was a must on the road, but it had its downsides, especially on a sunny day in Washington DC. He pinned down the heel of his motorcycle boot, and stretched his leg.

A light tap and click at his right made him turn.

 _I'll be damned-_  he thought, taking in the view of the gorgeous cyclist who just pulled next to him. Tight white t-shirt and shorts, trimmed waist over strong muscly thighs, the largest shoulders hunched over the professional bike, he even managed to make the whole cycling gear deal look good. He adjusted his helmet with a hand clad in a black fingerless glove, squinting his blue eyes at the road and wiping a lock of damp, perfect blond hair from his brow.

All the sudden, the temperature inside his motorcycle helmet seemed to have raised to unbearable levels, and it wasn't just the bright sun above them to be blamed. He raised the visor, revealing his own blue eyes. The hottie cyclist turned to him, an arm's length away.

“Hey” he greeted casually, with a little firm nod.

“Hey” he shot back.

He sort of blanked. _He never blanked_.

After a split second, the blond kicked his shoulders back and gestured at the motorcycle. “Nice wheels you got there” he said, with a little smile that could have been a grin.

“Thanks. It's Italian.” the other let out through the helmet, his confidence back. “898 cc of power _right here_.” With that, he rested is hand at the top of his hip, fingers just slightly bending over the curve of his crotch. I was casual enough that could have been passed as stretching, but allusive enough to get across, if the other wanted it to.

The blond cocked and eyebrow, his grin widening a bit. The message definitely got across. So the centaur added: “...Think you can beat it with _that?_ ” But he didn't gesture at the bicycle; instead he made his sharp gaze trail across the blond's firm body, muscles glistening from the thin layer of sweat on his skin.

They stared at each other, the space between them practically sizzling.

“Oh, that's how it is?” the blond chuckled. The pedestrian's light was starting to count down on the other side.

“...That's how it is.” he replied; a shit-eating grin shot across his face, before he was shutting the visor down. Without breaking eye contact with those gems on the cyclist's face, he wrapped his fingers around the handles, and turned the gas up, slowly and deliberately, making the bike roar with a deep modulated grumble. The blond lowered down on the handlebars, and locked his foot into the toe clip quite dramatically, all still eyes-in-eyes with that smooth jerk who kept making the engine soar.

The light turned green. The screeching roar of the motorcycle teared through their ears as the loud rumble rocked right in their guts, and it jolted away. Without losing a beat, the blond kicked the pedals, flying right behind it as the cars side-tracked them. For a short distance, it seemed like the bicycle could keep up with the Ducati.

“Name's Steve!” he shouted over the sound of the engine.

“Nice to meet you Stevie!” the other shouted back, already distancing him. Steve was fast, but not as fast as 900cc of Italian engineering.

“How do I get a hold of you?” Steve yelled at the back of the black helmet. His legs were giving everything, and the motorcycle wasn't even in third gear.

“ _...You come find me!_ ” the other man shouted over his shoulder, and sprinted away with a screeching ring, zig-zaging between cars. Steve, unable to keep up, looked at the license plate quickly leaping away: it read “ **B U C K Y B** ”.

A smirk plastered on his lips, Steve slowed down, watching the bike disappear in the distance. Its loud sound was fading off.

Two other bicycles braked beside him.

“On your left, sucker.”

Sam halted right past him, Clint just behind; both sporting brightly colored helmets, tight shorts and sunglasses. “Were you trying to compete with an actual gas-propelled vehicle there? ...You could really tone down the cocky, you know.”

“What? Don't tell me you need a new set of lungs already,” Sam rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear it. “We've got a few miles left before calling it a day, son.”

Clint shrugged. “As long as we stop at Starbucks,” he said casually, barely acknowledging that there was already an empty coffee cup in his cupholder from a similar stop made barely half an hour earlier.

Sam and Clint straddled back onto the seats of their ultra-light bikes, and rolled on their way, quickly resuming their pace. Steve darted a last look down the street, as if Bucky could have still been visible somehow; Steve sighed lightly, pushing the bike forward. The bone-rattling crackle of the Ducati was still lingering in his chest.

Spinning the tires round, he wondered how long it would take it to wash off completely.

***

It had been five days, and Steve could still feel it.

It might had been the rush of the moment, the sudden recognition in each other's eyes, how they just cut right through social norms and went straight to teasing – or maybe it was Bucky's ass in black leather as he leaned over the tank and wrapped his long fingers around the handles – just the whole few seconds of their interaction did not want to fade away from Steve's memory. And it was stupid, because it had been one of those encounters that people inevitably let slip away, too polite to chase after them. With a pang of regret, he wished he had pushed his bike faster and – maybe got his number, or something. It was just stupid and pointless, anyway.

Steve sat down at the table in the kitchen, sliding his coffee next to the laptop. He scrolled through the news, wetting his lips with the bittersweet coffee, absentmindedly. It wasn't until he had scrolled past the sixth headline without actually reading any of it that he realized he had been way too focused on thinking what a stupid name “Bucky” _even_ was. He ditched the news with a scoff. Gnawing on his lower lip, he massaged his chin, and stared at the screen, evaluating. He decided, _to hell with everything_ , and opened up a new tab. He typed 'Bucky B', the only thing he knew about him – then hovered a bit on the keyboard, before going in and adding 'motorcycle'.

Whatever, it was stupid. He hit enter. He actually made himself look at the search results, and – not so stupid after all. Maybe.

There were some photos – very promising, he couldn't help but think – but he clicked on a page that looked like an interview. MotoX.com: “ _Bucky Barnes will ride straight into your hearts"_ was the eloquent headline. Steve brushed over the interview that had a definite Rolling Stone-type feel to it, curse words and deep emotional thoughts applied to motorcycle engines. A large photo of Barnes scrolled almost in full view – and _damn_ , if those weren't the eyes he flirted with at the stop light. Yet this time, Steve almost had to hold in his breath, as he took in the vision of the blue-eyed brunet posing with piercing bedroom eyes at the camera, dark hair wet from the liquid pouring from the bottle he was holding above his head, and – _oh god_ – the way that jersey v-neck was sticking to the lean muscles beneath it had Steve's spine beaming sinful jolts of excitement down his thighs. He quickly went back to select a different link, almost too afraid to admit to himself how good all that was looking.

Googling was quickly turning out to be an horrible idea, if he really wanted to stop thinking about those perfect 30 seconds at the intersection. Steve realized he wouldn't be able to stop himself from following up on a long list of terrible ideas, right as he clicked to buy three tickets to the next _Howling Commandos feat. The Black Widow Freestyle Motocross Show._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and the gang go see Bucky's motocross show - and they all get more than they bargained for.  
> Natasha Romanoff kicks butt on her bike.

 

“So let me get this straight – you brought us all here to pine over a guy you had a Serendipity moment with?” asked Sam, as they scooted through the row of seats to get to their numbers, drinks in hand. 

“I'm not pining, I'm just – genuinely interested. I just, I just found the show and I thought it would be a nice one, that's all. We're all sports fans. I love bikes.”

“Or you could admit you wanna suck his dick.” flat-punched out Clint. The other two looked at him a bit in shock. “...I'm not hearing him say he doesn't want to. I stand my ground.” he stated, and stuffed his face with popcorns.

Steve blushed way more than he intended to, as he made himself sit down. The stadium was oval, already loud and crowded by an extremely varied crowd. Spotlights were covering the arena, highlighting the high, stiff ramps set up for the show. Electronic rock was already blasting, and colorful graphics were flashing on the huge screens, as the audience settled down.

With a loud metallic bass, the place went dark. The bleachers cheered and shouted in excitement. The manly voice of the host blasted through the arena:

“ _WASHINGTON DC! You have come tonight, to witness the one and only HOOOOOOWLING COMMANDOS SHOOOOW!!!!_ ”

The stadium boomed with screams.

“ _Are you ready for some FREESTYLE?!?_ ” loud cheer. _“Please welcome our dream team, the hit squad, our soldiers of loooove!!”_

A huge spotlight pointed at one end of the arena: as the panels covering the entrance drew apart, out came a string of high-pitched motocross bikes, the riders bouncing enthusiastically as they quickly began doing laps around the arena. The audience sent their appreciation as each performer passed by, drifting on the dirt at full speed. They gathered on one end of the arena, their bikes impatient like horses. Each one had a different color suit and bike. The red one accelerated and sprinted up the middle ramp at top speed, jumping up at the end of it and [flying sideways](http://37.media.tumblr.com/3896bfdecbc8c750108225bca98a0603/tumblr_n39pi35nSD1r24w87o1_500.jpg) to the other side, as the host screamed:

“ _Dum-Dum Dugan!_ ”

The blue one followed, executing a flawless [backflip](http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5u6jeQmkJ1r2ajbko1_250.gif) in the air - “ _Monty Falsworth!_ ”

Green spiked mid-air, only his hands hooked to the bike as he executed a ballsy [seatgrab](http://38.media.tumblr.com/f8174ef46301d3b3f3fb83954a74cac9/tumblr_mqwanuvvgS1qcp8kdo1_400.png) \- “ _Jim Morita!_ ” The crowd was cheering and gasping along every flourished jump.

Yellow detached from the group, and covered the gap between the ramps [upside down](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0jffkkbL91r2ajbko1_1280.jpg) - “ _Gabe Jones!_ ”

Purple blitzed in the air, [flicking](http://37.media.tumblr.com/46e380b48a4e59c528fe1572fb8a60f9/tumblr_n6l37qxlCq1tcbk50o1_400.gif) his legs away from his bike - “ _Jacques Dernier!_ ”

A last rider was making his back tire roam the dirt behind him, waiting for the proper introduction. Steve's chest had drawn tighter with each name being announced, a bit of disappointment each time as his trepidation grew. The last Howling Commando had a shiny chrome bike that twinkled eerily under the strobe lights, and a sleek pitch black outfit – the only splash of color being a red star on his left shoulder. 

“Hey, that's him!” said a dude near Steve, nudging at his buddy next to him. “That's Barnes!”

“Gosh, he had the best scores I've ever seen” fanboyed the other.

“He's also a very handsome man.” added their female friend on the side.

“...Yeah, I'd fuck him.” concluded the first, in a matter-of-facty tone. They all sipped their beers in agreement.

Steve felt even more embarrassed and stupid for being there. He felt like he was intruding in this person's life that he knew nothing about – even though this was a public show, and Bucky sort of invited him to go look for him. But the thing was, whoever this biker was, Steve didn't have any right over those amazingly expressive blue eyes of his. And that saddened him, to feel ashamed for wanting him.

The bike accelerating furiously, drifting on the dirt, Bucky was ready to claim the stage.

“ _Aaaand the one and only, Bucky 'The Winter' Barnes!_ ”

 

The engine crackled loudly, as Bucky threw it over the edge, releasing the brakes. He flew up the ramp and high in the air, right before them, the chrome beaming – with grace and ease, he threw himself [flipping](http://24.media.tumblr.com/c889318b4493e3e92b60dde79be36146/tumblr_mzb6vhSPte1tocth0o1_500.jpg) over the front of the bike; once fully extended, he tugged at the bike itself, flinging it around against his body once again, and he spun with it to come back to a standing landing position. When his wheels bounced down on the other side of the ramp, the entire audience let out an ecstatic howl of relief. He joined the others, one foot down, and made rings on the ground, spinning around with his fist in the air. The stadium pretty much lost it from then on.

The bulk of the show consisted of [strings](http://38.media.tumblr.com/16556602b28d9cf7a52bdbabfa340ccd/tumblr_mtgv2upbE31s783uqo1_1280.jpg) of [awe-inducing](http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7d4t9nOY11qiw409o1_500.jpg) [choreographies](http://37.media.tumblr.com/327d09a32411121b7e5dbdd792ff1542/tumblr_mtssphRipu1s783uqo1_1280.jpg), and it wasn't long before Steve, Sam and Clint joined shouting and cheering in delight along with the rest of the crowd. At times, the music would become more dramatic, as the Howling Commandos prepared for a special trick, leaving the audience breathless as they executed their stunts without any trace of hesitation. The solo tricks and leading position in their group jumps were reserved for Barnes – and Steve just couldn't help but feeling strangely proud, but also sort of concerned every time the silver bike was tossed 60 feet in the air. Much like in their first encounter, Bucky was covered head to toes in motorcycle gear that gave him a mysterious vibe and, frankly, a downright sexy allure. Steve had Bucky's mannerism seared into his memory, the way his hips moved, his long legs, the wrinkles around his eyes when he grinned at him... Steve sighed over the straw in his drink. He was developing a crush of biblical proportions, with very slim chances of release for it.

The show was winding down, with the Howling Commandos leaping around the arena. They gathered on the opposite side of the entrance, and the music stopped completely. The voice of the host resonated through the stadium:

“ _Tonight, we have promised a very special appearance! The Howling Commandos are fearsome BUT there is ONE RIDER who could outride them ALL_ ” people cheered and yelled from the bleachers - “bring her out!” “wooohooo!” “she's gonna kick yo ass!” - and the host went on. “ _Ladies and gentleman, and variation thereupon: prepare to meet the Russian sensation, world champion_ ” the panels opened “ _...THE BLACK WIDOW, NATASHA ROMANOFF!!!_ ”

The doors opened and she sprinted out of them, and roamed on top of the tallest ramp, stopping there to take in the nearly ear-damaging applaud from the crowd. Her bike was apple-red, and she had a big X shape of the same color from shoulders to hips on her black suit. 

“Hey, I know her.” said Clint.

“What? How do you- how do you know her?” Sam asked.

“Budapest.” was Clint's simple reply.

“She was involved in Budapest?” asked Steve, leaning to look at Clint in the face.

“...We don't talk about Budapest.” Clint said, flat.

Steve and Sam nodded: with all of them working military intelligence, they had a lot in common, but then there was always the downside of classified information. So many good stories to waste.

The Black Widow touched a spot on her black helmet, and it lighted up with bright blue lighting all over, sending the crowd completely over the edge of flipping out.

Bucky Barnes rode up to the other side of the ramp looking eager. There was something scripted going on. 

“ _Oh, but the Romanian Winter isn't going to give up his fans so easily!_ ” Barnes overacted shouting at Romanoff, and she gestured like she was deeply offended and shook her fist back at him – they were getting ready to fight it in the arena. “ _It looks like the Black Widow isn't gonna back down! ...what do you guys think?! Should you get to decide who's reigning supreme?!? Should they FIGHT IT TO THE END???_ ” 

A low chant of “ _fight... fight... fight, fight, FIGHT_ ” surged from the crowd, reaching new levels of intensity as everybody started pounding their feet of the metal bleachers. The Black Widow and the Romanian Winter finally broke it off, getting cheered as they came down from the ramps and began speeding around. 

The choreography was beautiful. For a solid 15 minutes, they made their tricks and jumps increasingly hard and complicated, battling it down to the best executed or the most hardcore one: there were double backflips, frontflips, the [Superman](http://37.media.tumblr.com/f6ce13ce43f6a16c056a975f98eba78f/tumblr_mkutx04OQM1qh9swyo1_500.jpg) without hands, the [Dead Body](http://24.media.tumblr.com/b813ffcf658ea86d00387a7a1798eba2/tumblr_mlyz8oWnPk1s3p9iko1_500.jpg), unbelievable leg movements mid-air that needed to be replayed on the screens. After a while, the two of them rested a second, encouraging the exhausted audience to cheer for them once again. 

“ _I think they gave it all folks... But wait!_ ” Romanoff got handed a utility belt by her headset-wearing girl assistant. “ _The Black Widow isn't finished!_ ” The crowd whooed. “ _She's going for the Kill Shot!_ ”

Once again, Steve, Sam and Clint joined into the “ _kill shot, kill shot, KILL SHOT_ ” chant from their row. The light show changed, met by suspenseful drums. A ring came down from the ceiling, greeted by a noise of thrill and surprise when it lit up with lighting. She was going to jump through an electrocuted ring – apparently the ring of fire was too pre-Cold War. As if that wasn't enough, a human shaped target was lowered down on her opposite side, on top of the giant screen that was showing just that. Romanoff made a scene of prepping for the jump: she rode up to Barnes and knocked on his helmet, provoking him into an on-cue pissed off reaction.

She was ready. Pumped by the shouting and pounding from the bleachers, she cranked up the gas, drums rolling. Without much warning, she leaped forward – in a split second she hit the ramp and was in the air. The suspense was so high, every single set of eyes on her, she looked like she was jumping in slow-mo. Before reaching the lighting ring, she hooked her feet by the tail of her bike, arching her body behind it as she drew two guns from her holster. She passed right in the centre of the ring, and she fired at the target in front of her – the blast covering the music and the surge of light blinding the ecstatic audience. Then almost nonchalantly, she put the guns back and came back to sit on the bike, landing light like a feather on the opposite side. If they thought the stadium was loud before this, they hadn't taken into account how much the crowd roared right then. The screens showed the detail of the target – the crotch had two perfectly aligned bullet holes. Black Widow circled around the arena, and came back up on top of the ramp where everybody could see her. She tossed her bike to the ground, and ripped her helmet away – her red hair poured out and she shook it around, fisting the air at the audience. Her assistant came up to hand her a microphone. Her rough voice filled the air:

“до свидания, motherfuckers!” 

She dropped the mic, which made a static sound against the dirt; then she grabbed her bike and accelerated out of the arena, the Howling Commandos following behind her.

Steve followed Bucky Barnes as he disappeared behind the scenes, wistful as the last of him hid from view. He had seen him again, but what exactly had he expected to achieve coming there that night, he wasn't sure.

***

It turned out the night wasn't over. Whatever happened in Budapest, Clint and Natasha had something going on beyond just “knowing” each other. He had texted her, and she had invited them to the show's afterparty. 

“It's some backyard get-together, nothing to get worked up about.” Clint said, clearly addressing Steve's concerned face. They didn't talk about it any longer on the way there.

It was indeed a pretty laid back party, in a part of Maryland where house's backyards were big enough they blended into the woods, and this one's blended with the park behind it. The three of them approached the patch of trees illuminated by twinkle lights, people's chatter and laughter coming up the slight hill that was ending on the edge of a small black lake. There were some motocross bikes and some BMX bicycles tossed on the edge of the patch, and people were socializing on the benches, chatting old friends, excitement and conversations. The crowd looked fun – lots of oddly colored hair, piercings and tattoos.

Steve spotted the Howling Commandos group – Bucky was there, beer in hand, jeans and tshirt over a long sleeves black technical undershirt, laughing at some joke.

“Clint!” Natasha paced up to meet them. “I knew you'd find me! I still owe you a drink.” she said as she hugged him. Yep, the swift look between them, fond and right in each other's eyes for a moment, it gave away they definitely knew each other alright.

“Natasha. These are my friends – Sam and Steve.”

She greeted them both warmly.

“The show was fantastic. Thank you so much for the experience. You're very talented.” Steve took the time to tell her. 

Bucky's voice came in before Nat could reply.

“Aw, you're too nice, Stevie. Everybody knows the show would sink without me.”

He walked up the few steps that still separated him from the newly formed group, and stopped near Steve. Their eyes locked immediately, like they never left each other from that day. “Have you got any nice comments for me too?” he said, tilting his chin up just a bit, his eyes doing that wrinkling thing that made them look like the sun itself was radiating from the blue in them.

Before Steve could whip up anything to reply, Natasha got curious. “You two know each other?”

Steve turned to her, polite. “Yeah- sort of. Yes.” She slightly raised one eyebrow, pursing her lips together, savoring the juicy gossip she just sensed forming right there.

“We talked.” Bucky cut her short. She picked up on it and turned to talk to Sam and Clint.

“Didn't think you'd actually go to any extent to find me.” he darted at Steve. Now that Bucky was closer, Steve could see that his right hand holding the beer was free, but the other was shoved in his pocket and covered completely by the sleeve, tugged into a black leather glove.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t' that hard to find, anyway. You're all over the internet.”

“Who isn't these days?” They both chuckled. “I hope the show was worth the money. I try my best.”

“Oh, you definitely delivered” Steve said, looking down at the grass. It came out a tad more allusive than he had anticipated.

“Yeah? ...Anything you liked in particular?” Bucky's grin widened.

 _The way your lower back arches when you're about to jump_ , Steve thought for a split second. “Uhm, it was all really impressive, you're all so talented. Obviously the final section with Natasha was outstanding.”

Steve swore Bucky was looking at him like he read his mind. He pressed his lips together and flickered his tongue out as if pondering something. Steve didn't believe Bucky quite knew just how rudely arousing that was.

“So. Let's get you something to hold in your hands. We've got a cooler full of beers.” Bucky said, gesturing to follow him towards the tables.

Once Steve had been provided with his own drink, Bucky introduced him to the rest of the crew. He complimented them a lot, and a couple of behind the scenes stories got shared. They were a fun bunch of fellas, the kind you just click with because they've been traveling and they get things right away.

Bucky stood next to him the whole time – Steve would have said he was just a hair closer than standard distance, but yet again, he might have been tricked by that magnetic field between them that was impossible to ignore. It was in the way Bucky laughed and gestured around, how he didn't have any problem coming into his space, but also how he was making eye contact with Steve only in his peripheral view. They both had this thing going on in their back burner, and they were standing there conversing, simultaneously taking the time to linger in it, and impatiently waiting to walk away and be alone.

After a while, it happened; the conversation wore off and everybody broke in smaller groups. Bucky strolled towards the lake, Steve following. Bucky sipped his beer.

“...I still cannot believe you're actually here. It's surreal.”

“It's sort if my thing. Finding people. And you did sort of challenge me.”

Something in the back of Bucky's mind whispered _this one's a keeper_. Bucky had pulled that flirting trick before, just to get himself off on impressing a second party who would have disappeared from his life completely right after. It was sort of like playing catch by throwing an impossibly fast ball – but this time, for the first time, someone had actually caught his bait and threw it right back at him. Not that he minded – Steve was possibly even more gorgeous than a week ago, the twinkle lights casting an halo on his blond hair, his blue jacket hugging his shoulders, and the white tshirt underneath creasing deliciously over the line of his belt. But Bucky wasn't used to this, he just didn't know what to do with it; he usually bailed out way before even going into an actual conversation. Especially during the last year... Looking at the shadow collecting in the pool of Steve's collarbones, Bucky thought he would have been more than satisfied with just hauling him against the trunk of a tree, burying his face in there and roaming that soft skin, and trailing up his warm throat and calling him 'Stevie' over and over again. 

Instead, Bucky cleared his voice a bit and asked: “So. What do you do, Steve? Other than cycling?”

“...I'm not actually at the liberty to say.”

“And just like that, I'm not the cool one anymore.” They both laughed. Steve opened up his mouth to patch that up with something more specific, but Bucky cut him short. “You know what? I don't wanna know. No business, no boring mundane stuff tonight. Just us and what we like.”

Steve could get on board with that. And he did. 

As they started talking about everything, they forgot to care about the flirting, the tension – there was just the two of them, sitting on the grass, and their eagerness to share their favorite books, the films, the places in DC, the funny stories, their hobbies and their opinions. And they didn't know it yet, but it was the easiest thing they'd ever done in their lives. 

As the night went on, Natasha, Clint and Sam came over, scattering on the grass – they introduced them to Nat's assistant, Maria Hill, whose side Sam seemed awfully interested to sticking to for the whole night. And she had this stern look on her face when she was talking about things, and every time Sam would reply to something that look would melt into the prettiest smile. It was a good night. 

They all came up to get another round of booze. Steve was enjoying the warmth from the alcohol, being just on the edge of getting tipsy – words just flew out more easily. He could tell Bucky was feeling the same, maybe just a tad ahead of him in terms of beer count.

They got away from the group again, Steve leaning and bumping his back against a tree. Bucky rested his covered hand on the bark above Steve's shoulder, and they were laughing at some joke – and all the sudden they were back at staring in each other's eyes like horny teenagers for a long, wordless moment.

A shadow passed on Bucky's face, and he dipped his head down quickly – he looked away and Steve knew he was trying to say something.

“I know I said no boring business tonight, but there's something you should know about me. ... Just to make sure you don't get grossed out, or whatever.”

Steve couldn't possibly imagine anything about Bucky that could gross him out. “Ok, sure. What is it?”

Bucky withdrew his gloved hand from beside Steve's shoulder and held it up. 

“So it is true, you haven't read about it online.” Bucky said. Steve frowned a bit. “You've been real smooth not asking me about my Anakin Skywalker glove all night, so I figured you either knew everything or you had no idea. Given your look just now, I'm going for the latter.”

Bucky looked away from Steve's face, as he tugged at the glove's fingers. As the leather peeled off, Steve was surprised to see metal plates – he had expected maybe bad burn tissue or a condition – but he didn't let anything rise up to change his expression. Bucky rolled his sleeve up to the elbow, revealing more metal. It looked like a normal arm, just made out of a system of metal plating instead of skin and bones. Bucky bared it in front of Steve, looking like he was going to accept the disgusted look he was sure he was going to get. 

“...That's some piece of next gen tech you've got right there.” said Steve, unfazed. He wasn't going to ask what happened there. It was going to be Bucky's choice to tell him. Bucky couldn't hide the tiny pang of relief from Steve's reaction. 

“...Yeah, it was some experimental shit they were developing in Moscow. Works fine, you know. Does the job.”

All the cockiness from his stage persona had washed away to reveal something deeper, and Steve couldn't help but gaze at him, the corners of his mouth rising up into a smile, behind the neck of the bottle he was bringing to his lips.

“Yeah. No big deal.” said Steve. Bucky heard the smile in his voice, and looked up to him again.

“...No big deal.” he smiled as well, and they both sipped their beers, looking at each other, simmering in the gaze.

The moment was interrupted by some noise coming from the edge of the party. Bucky frowned; he moved towards the others. Steve followed him. There was a posse of guys coming in, loudly addressing the people around. They did not seem very nice.

The main guy saw Bucky and came right up to him.

“Rumlow. What the fuck are you doing here?” hissed Bucky, shoving down the sleeve to cover his arm. 

“Hey, relax Barnes. It's public ground. I just heard of your little party and I thought I'd swing by. How's your arm?” They all laughed.

“The circus is really scraping the bottom of the barrel, with all the race drop-outs they're employing!” said Rumlow's wing man.

“Go fuck yourselves.” Bucky's face was a mask of hatred and pain.

“That's all you've got? I'm so scared!” said the guy again.

Natasha stepped in. “Shut your untalented hole, Batroc, and learn to look at yourself. You got your ass kicked so hard in Korea last year, nail salons are still talking about it.” Batroc cringed – apparently Korea was a wound still open.

“And you-” she stepped up to Rumlow “if you'd know any better, you wouldn't be standing at shooting range from me.” and she lightly brushed her hand over the holster on her thigh. Each single one of them in her group planted their feet down, intimidating and ready to fight. Even Steve was thinking that guy was clearly scum of the earth.

Her tone cool and cutting, Maria picked it up. “You should probably get going. It'd be a shame if the police randomly checked your trailer for illegal substances, while you are away.” She let that linger in the air. Rumlow didn't give any satisfaction there, but he gestured to his posse.

“Have fun in the freak show, Barnes.” he yelled, walking away along the lake.

Steve was furious with these guys, he didn't need to know them to feel just how disgusting those bullies were. No matter their age, no matter the environment, bullies remained just that. And Steve just didn't like them. He looked at Bucky: his face was red and cringed, and Steve could read on it that Bucky hated himself more than he hated them for making him feel that way. 

Before Steve could do anything to console him, Bucky snapped and walked away, almost breaking pace into running.

Natasha didn't try to stop him, but yelled: “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Leave me alone, Natalia!” he shouted back, his breath short. “I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow.” he mumbled, barely audible as he quickly made his way up the hill.

Just like that, the night had gone completely awry. Steve was feeling like garbage, so helpless because he would have wanted to be of some use, but he didn't even know the circumstances. It was only after Bucky had disappeared into the darkness, that Steve realized they didn't exchange any information.

“Hey, Natasha.” he came up to her. “This might seem awkward, but... Could you- do you have Bucky's number? We didn't get a chance to exchange them.” 

Natasha scanned his face. He seemed so honest and nice, but she knew how these things usually went with James. “Look, if he didn't give it at any point tonight... I probably shouldn't be the one to give it away. I hope you understand. You seem like a great guy, but James is my friend first, and I have to respect his decisions.” she tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry.”

Steve's hopes crumbled. “Yeah... no, I understand. It makes sense. I, uhm... I'll get going. It was nice to meet you.” Steve quickly joined Sam and Clint who were already walking away, after a long goodbye between Sam and Maria.

“Guys. You don't understand. I'm gonna marry that girl.” Sam said, enthusiastically, as they reunited.

“She looks like the kind of woman who'd want to be informed of such plans in advance.” commented Clint.

“Yes. She does... I hope she'll agree to make those plans with me.” Sam said, waving at Maria one last time. She smiled big.

Steve was being awfully quiet, but none of the others mentioned it. Slouching in the backseat of Sam's car, the lights of DC trailing next to him, he just kept wondering if the night he just experienced was going to be all of it. He wasn't sure how to cope with that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I linked to gifs and pictures to make it easy to envision the freestyle jumps - and then I just couldn't resist throwing in some visuals!  
> Nat's phrase in Russian is "dasvidanya".  
> Also note that I did my research on motocross, but I'm no expert. If I'm butchering you favorite sport, just let me know what I got wrong :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Bucky again, and hormones happen.

It was morning at the Pentagon. Steve Rogers had just walked out of a routine briefing about his last mission. They were all on break after their successful exploits, but they still had to go in for meetings and paperwork for a few days. He loosened the tie on his agency-straight suit just a bit – it wasn't his cup of tea, even though it could have been argued it was more comfortable than his stealth uniform. 

His cellphone buzzed in his jacket pocket. A text from Sam.

_Have you seen Clint and Natasha?_

_After the party the other day? I've seen Clint -_ he replied.

_No man, I mean have you seen Clint &Natasha / she's an AGENT!!_

_You're shitting me_

_Go down to the food court / like / right NOW_

As odd as it was to think about, the Pentagon had a food court, just like any other office. Intrigued, Steve rushed through the glass covered corridors, until he reached the overlook. He got a glimpse of Clint leaving the table, squeezing Nat's shoulder lightly. They both had a light in their eyes and a smirk on their lips that didn't quite read as business meeting.

Steve came out the elevator and went to the counter to get some coffee, eyeing Natasha tapping on her PDA, not even a drink on her table. He wasn't quite sure how to break the ice – again – but as the clerk handed him his usual, he figured it probably wasn't going to be that weird, now that he knew they were colleagues. At least as much as two could be colleagues when working spy jobs. He walked up to the table.

“Natasha?”

“Hi Steve.” she greeted him, like she knew he was coming.

“I saw you with Clint, and... you..?”

“Yeah Steve, I'm an agent. Hey, take a seat, I've got five minutes.”

“I guess I'd be lying if I said I didn't see that coming, right? You definitely got the marksmanship back at the show. How come I've never even heard of you being in the ranks?” he started off.

“As you've seen, I'm mostly undercover abroad. And my status is highly classified information, which is why I don't usually even come down here often.” She looked at him in the eyes, her long lashes batting slowly, unreadable. After a second, she shook. “Come on. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” said Steve, the tip of his ears reddening.

“Ask me about James.” She batted her lashes again, more purposefully this time. “If he is an agent himself. If I still have his number.”

“Ok. I guess I was going to ask that, _as well_.” Steve admitted, fingers picking at the carton sleeve on his coffee cup.

“Answer's no, and still no.”

Steve probably looked more deceived than he thought, because Natasha rolled her eyes a bit, shifted forward in the chair and told him: “Ok. Just this once. If you feel like you need to see more motocross, there's a race in Maryland this Saturday. It's just amateurs and semi-pros for the most part, but it's open to anyone, so James is thinking of entering.” She got up.

“Thank you.” he said in return, his eyes gleaming.

“Don't thank me.”

As she moved to walk away, Steve had the unfortunate idea of remembering there was something else poking his curiosity.

“Actually – … I wanted to ask you-”

Nat turned around, waiting. Steve felt suddenly intimidated by the tiny frown between her brows.

“So you and Clint... do you... uhm... you know. Ahem. Do you- _fondue_?”

That came out _utterly wrong_. She raised a killer eyebrow.

“...Better you stick to boys, Rogers.” was her deadly sarcastic reply.

As Natasha walked away towards god knew what uber-secret meeting, Steve sinked his burning face into his collar.

And yet, even with managing to embarrass himself to death, the only thing he could think about was that he knew what he was going to do that Saturday. 

***

Bucky took off his shirt in a single gesture. The locker room around him was alive, filled with guys prepping loudly for the race. His metal arm wasn't much of an issue there, people had seen it whenever he was coming over to do a few laps. Even so, he wouldn't make a show out of it; he sort of draped the shirt over his shoulder, so at least the scarring wasn't visible. He hated the staring.

He wasn't there for socializing or anything, he wasn't looking to make any new friends. He needed to blow off some steam, and the show's choreography was too repetitive to give him any kind of edge at that point. He wanted speed, and maybe a couple of falls – he could have been expecting a cut, a sprain, or maybe a mild concussion; they were all good candidates. Maybe he was going to ride dirty and pick a fight. Audiences loved it usually, even though this one hadn't looked like much when he walked in, all friends and families. 

Clanging shut his locker's flap, he paced down towards the bathroom – but he had to freeze when he walked right past something his brain didn't quite compute.

“Steve?”

Steve looked up from the bench he was sitting on, all beautiful smile and blue eyes. Again with the white shirt contouring his body like a second skin, he was fumbling with a moto suit. 

“Stevie! What are you doing here?!” Bucky lighted up in full-face smile, nudging him in the shoulder.

Steve's heartrate missed a beat – or maybe a couple of them. Or maybe one for every tattoo on Bucky's bare chest, suddenly way closer than he could possibly handle. And one flutter of valves for every inch of happy trail on his sculpted lower abs. Basically, Steve felt a straight punch in the guts, but didn't flinch for a second at the sudden lack of air.

“I thought I'd scratch off some rust on the track today.”

Steve's long lashes fluttered, his half-smile doing things to Bucky. He desperately needed to play it out cool, or he wasn't sure how well his pants were going to cover up the reaction Steve's pink lips were provoking below the belt.

“What? ...You ride motorcycles now?” he went, like he wouldn't believe it.

“I get my fare share, yes” Bucky was looking incredulous, so Steve added: “The military has been using dirt bikes in the middle East – let's say my division is the first to get their hands on new gadgets.”

Bucky looked beyond impressed – he wasn't sure if leaning more towards admiration and respect, or sudden urge to slam Steve into the lockers and rip his shirt apart.

Steve looked amused. “I got a [Redshift MX](http://www.cycleworld.com/2011/08/05/brd-redshift-sm-and-mx-electric-motorcycles-first-look-2/).”

Bucky picked himself up, resuming his front of cockiness. “Yeah? ...And whadya gonna do with that lightbulb? Did you bring enough AAs to keep it running through the race?” Bucky crossed his arms, which did anything but highlight the vein on his biceps. Steve smirked and bit his lower lip, probably harder than he should have had.

“Don't know much about racing, but I've been pretty good dodging bullets, so far.”

“You think you can beat me with that?” Bucky smirked, lulling his hips forth a bit.

“...I'd like to see myself trying.” Steve whipped back, looking up at Bucky from the bench.

“Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds.” spitted out Bucky, tilting his chin up at an angle, an eyebrow cocked emphasizing the smug look in his eyes.

That was it. Steve hooked his fingers on the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off through the head – he was bare-chested as he stood up abruptly, him and Bucky now mere inches from each other. He could feel the heat from Bucky's skin, the tip of their noses not far from brushing into each other, Bucky's pupils going wide under his quickened, thrilled pulse.

_It was on._

***

They didn't even know how they were positioned in the race, at that point. They didn't care. The blood pumping a thousand miles per hour in their veins, completely high on adrenaline, they only cared about surpassing each other.

Bucky had managed to make Steve's bike swerve on the sand as he cut his path abruptly on the only straight stretch in the track. He gained the advantage and flew with it over the high dune, his bloodstream bubbling as he reached stillness at the top of the jump, and breathing in hard as he hit the suspensions back down. Steve picked up, determined to let Bucky no escape from his relentless tail. He skid at the next sharp curve, shoulder to shoulder with him – he could hear his chuckle through the loud crackling of the bikes all around them, his smiling eyes hidden beneath his goggles.

Bucky Barnes was damn good. Steve was precise, ready for action, fast even, but “The Winter” Barnes was like a blizzard, quick, harsh and unstoppable. He slid his back tire in front of Steve, and he had to hit the brakes to avoid a contact that would have sent him flying. 

The booming voice of the presenter resonated among the trees, muffled and indistinct at times – but it was clearly announcing the last lap. Instead of mellowing it down, Bucky pushed his bike even harder, cutting corners and climbing up ramps with a wild animal's determination. Steve didn't give up and followed him close enough he was breathing in Bucky's dust cloud.

They were approaching the last series of ramps before the finish line. Steve realized competition was bringing up the worst in him, right about when he decided he just _couldn't_ let Bucky win. Side by side, Bucky had the advantage of a mere tire's length: they sat up to hit the stiff of the ramp, letting the curve throw them in the air – and Steve thrusted towards Bucky's bike, nudging at his side just enough to make him loose balance for the landing. 

He didn't expect him to actually fight back – caught unguarded, Steve let go of the handles. They both tumbled to the ground, sliding face down in the dirt to the flat bottom of the jump. 

They laughed and moaned in pain, all in one, as they brushed on their feet to haul themselves and the bikes out of the way of the other approaching contestants. They flopped down again on the side of the track, the finish line and the audience cheering over the commentator's voice, a couple of ramps down the line. Steve took off his helmet, catching his breath to laugh again, his cheeks flushed and smeared in sweaty streaks of dirt. Bucky ripped his own helmet off; shaken by an incontrollable laughter, his eyes were glowing.

They kept bursting out laughing, but as Bucky locked his gaze on Steve, he did the same. A chuckle trailed off in their throats. For a moment, they kept staring at each other, grinning.

Then in one swoop, Bucky jolted up and grabbed Steve by one of the suit's, getting him up on his feet and hauling him off in the opposite direction of the bleachers.

***

 

The metal lockers clanged sharply when Bucky shoved Steve's back into them, the locker room resonating with the sound, deserted. Steve huffed against Bucky's mouth already roaming his, kissing bruises into his red swollen lips, as they both tried to get all of the other at once. Their mouths were loose and hungry, tongues sliding over each other, licking and sucking hard, as their whole world was collapsing into those few points were their skin was burning, grasping, touching.

Bucky fumbled with Steve's suit's zipper, and Steve took advantage of this slight distraction to grab a handful of Bucky's thick hair. He pulled hard on it, drawing a choked-off sound from Bucky's throat, and sucked his way along his jawline, down to the tender flesh below his ear. The brunet moaned breathlessly, which just gave Steve's crotch yet another reason to get excited, his erection already embarrassing in the way it was tending the bottom of the suit. Steve found the pulse on Bucky's throat and bit down gently, before going all in and sucking a wet, sloppy hickey into it. He tasted so sinfully _raw_ , salty sweat and tangy dirt from the race, and Bucky's intoxicating scent tickling Steve's nostrils, pushing Steve's mind over the edge of arousal.

Bucky managed to fly Steve's zipper open all the way down; he immediately slid his right hand inside to search for Steve's hot, silky skin, as he tugged down the fabric on the other side with his metal hand, rough and demanding. As Steve was struggling to get out of the sleeves, Bucky pushed his tongue back into his open mouth; with another clang from the lockers behind, he pressed his hips against Steve's, choking down a sigh when their clothed erections pressed against each other. Bucky rolled against Steve's lap again, grasping down at the small of his back beneath the suit, until one particularly experted roll coaxed a cut-off whine from Steve. Bucky groaned in pleasured surprise when Steve responded by grabbing his ass,both hands squeezing it tight and up close against his hips.

Bucky roamed his hands up Steve's back, feeling his tiny firm waist getting larger all the way up to the muscles moving around his shoulderblades. For a moment, he got concerned that his metal hand would feel weird for Steve, but then Steve was breaking away from the kiss to open up Bucky's suit, almost blunt, his eyes going dark under the determination of getting him naked.

Bucky wasn't yet completely out of the top of his suit, that he was already back at attacking Steve's collarbones, the way he had been dreaming of since the night of the party, his arms pinning Steve on either side, his hands grasping his asscheeks. He slid his fingers down around the curve they made with his tights, breathing into Steve's neck, and bit and clasped his ass, hard. Steve cried, his head slamming back into the lockers, as he grabbed the short hair at the base of Bucky's neck like a lifeline. His eyes shut and his lips apart trying to catch his breath, Steve realized he might had discovered the wrongest kink in the book as he wished for Bucky's metal hand to squeeze him harder, to scar him and bruise him so he'd remember every sharp moment of his hands on his body.

Bucky slid down, trailing kisses and bites over Steve's chest; he flicked his tongue on a nipple, and Steve felt a new heat coiling up in his belly. Bucky moved his hands on either side of Steve's hips, pushing them to the wall as he kneeled and brushed his puffed lips across the blond's abs. Steve's eyes flung open, because Bucky had hooked his fingers around the band of his briefs and was pulling everything down. Steve looked down, and had to suck in a breath at the view of Bucky grinning wide between his legs, his own painfully hard cock standing between his stomach and Bucky's lips. His smirk not fading, he lapped at Steve's hard flesh from the base, licking the vein up to the edge of the head, hot and swollen and damp with precome. Steve was breathing only through half-inhales: his head was light, his sweaty palms sliding on the metal of the lockers. He didn't want to think this was looking like the best blowjob he ever had. No. He definitely did not need to think that if he meant to live through it. When Bucky circled the tip of his tongue at the slit and finally placed his lips around the head, Steve growled deeply. He threw his head back again, and he didn't even care about the dent he was leaving on the locker's door, because he was feeling Bucky's hot mouth around him, his lips he had kissed moments ago now working around his cock, the way they brushed just around the tip driving him completely mad. Bucky chuckled softly at Steve's moans, and took him in deeper. When he started sucking, Steve almost blacked out from the rush of pleasure that spiked up his spine, his eyes screwing shut. He cried out louder, and couldn't help but grab Bucky's hair at the top of his head, tugging hard before letting his fist open back up to tangle his fingers more softly, melting into the moment and letting Bucky take charge. And Bucky just loved it, his hands digging deeper into Steve's hips to hold them still; he loved feeling in control like this, and the pleasured sound Steve was making were all worth the ride. 

If that was going to be it, their wild sex fantasy coming to life, Bucky figured he was going to give his best tricks in the book, so he relaxed the muscles in his neck and shoulders, and opened up his airway – he pushed so far in he muzzled the patch of hair at the base of Steve's cock, focusing on holding him still and not choke on the girth he just shoved to the back of his throat. 

“Oh! Buck...! ...oh god- what did you- _oh!_ ” Steve babbled out, his words fading out into breathy moans, their pace quickened as soon as Bucky started to move back in quick jerks, sucking harder and stroking with his right hand what wouldn't fit in his mouth anymore. He could feel Steve beginning to shake under him, his breathing becoming erratic and signaling he was getting closer. His grip tightened in Bucky's hair, so the brunet quickened the pace. The fast sucking and pressing had Steve's guts bunch up in no time, his breath hitching shakingly as he hunched over. Bucky glanced up at him, working the last jerks – Steve let out a deep groan, and he had the prettiest frowny o-face as he came in Bucky's mouth, white heat rushing through him and shooting chemicals in his bloodstream, pleasure lacing over every inch of his skin.

Steve's eyes were still closed as he quietly tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't help a couple of low moans when Bucky swallowed around him and licked him clean. When he finally moved his lips away, Steve managed to snap his eyes open. He still had his hand tangled in those dark hair of his, Bucky's blue eyes darting at Steve's, his spit-slick red lips open in a knowing smile. 

Steve pulled Bucky up by his hair, crushing him in for a kiss. He made his hand brush down to the nape of his neck, while wrapping around Bucky's waist, pulling their heaving chests flush against each other. Steve could taste himself, salty and sticky on Bucky's lower lip, and even if he had just expended an orgasm, he could feel his crotch still boiling up. He parted from the kiss with a wet pop, grabbing Bucky by the back of his neck again, and turned him around, slamming his body on the locker's door, his cheek and his metal arm clanging against it. Bucky let out a surprised sound, but the smirk on his face said he was thoroughly enjoying it. Effectively pinning Bucky's whole body with his, the blond guided both of Bucky's arms up. With Bucky practically sprawled under him, Steve bit down across the line of his shoulders, from the edge of the scarring, over to the warm nape of his neck, and down across the red and black clusters of tattooed stars that were wrapped over the twitching muscles on his right shoulder and the top of his arm. Bucky let out a needy huff as Steve pressed his hands down his exposed sides, brushing over his ribcage and sliding further down around his hips to reach his leaking cock. He palmed at it, freeing his length as he firmly pressed his chest to Bucky's back. They were breathing into each other, their faces so close over Bucky's shoulder that he could count the long lashes hooding Steve's gaze. Bucky sucked in a breath – Steve had wrapped his long fingers around his cock, slick and hard as marble after all the buildup. It became clear Steve wasn't going to rush it, though, as he massaged at Bucky's balls with the other hand while stroking up and down in an excruciatingly slow pace.

“We haven't gotten all day, soldier boy,” Bucky breathed out, making sure Steve could feel the smirk on him as he pushed back to plaster a sloppy kiss on his mouth.

“Shut up, jerk,” replied Steve, putting his imperative into action by squeezing and twisting at the base of the tip. Bucky squirmed.

Steve picked up the pace, sliding his fingers tight around the head while pumping up and down. When he added a thumb stroking over the slit, Bucky screw his eyes shut, clouding the locker's surface near his face with is hot breaths. He was being more quiet than Steve had been, maybe because of the sort of intimacy there was in the way Steve's lips brushed close on his cheekbone, his face blocking out most of the light, the blue of his eyes flickering and taking up all Bucky's field of view. Steve nipped at his earlobe, sending deep shivers down Bucky's spine; the brunet bit his lower lip, battling the edge that he was already feeling taking over him. Steve dialed up on the rhythm and Bucky gasped, slamming his palm on the lockers and moaning as the other pushed him back down against them. 

“God, Stevie, I'm gonna – ughn, - I'm gonna c- _ah!_ ” his voice ended up in a stuttering whine, as Steve worked him steady through his orgasm, Bucky's shoulders shivering under him. Steve's fist was a warm mess of white come, still sliding on Bucky's cock to pump out every last drop.

Both breathing heavily, they stilled against each other, their muscles slowly releasing the high. Steve could feel Bucky's heartrate coming down slowly; he pressed a kiss on his shoulder and rested his forehead on there, inhaling deeply, his eyes closed. Bucky laid his cheek on the cooling metal door, breathing light, but when Steve moved his hand away from his dick he had to bump his forehead on the hard metal, again, trying to get over the hypersensitivity. There was definitely going to be a dent on that thing.

Lazily, Bucky opened the locker beside him and pulled out his towel to hand Steve. They were cleaning up, still attached by the shoulders, when a group of voices bursted in from the main door. 

They immediately startled and jumped around, Bucky silently mouthing ' _shit_ ' as he simultaneously tried to get himself and Steve back in the suits. Luckily, they were on the second row of lockers, and nobody turned the corner yet. 

“Barnes! ...James Barnes? Is he here?” an authoritative voice called, leaning in the door.

Bucky managed to zip up the suit. 

“Yeah!” he yelled back, making himself audible so nobody would feel compelled to come around looking for him, only to see a beautifully disheveled Steve in all his shirtless, love-mangled glory.

“You need to sign over to the committee that you dropped out of the race before the end – you and” he paused to read, “Steve G. Rogers. Rogers?”

Steve scrunched up his nose, trying not to laugh. 

“Yeah!” he yelled.

“You too buddy, come down right after.”

Bucky zipped up and walked down the corridor, turning around to Steve to salute him with a grin as he covered the last few steps backwards; then flipped on his feet and disappeared behind the corner. 

As Steve fixed his suit back up, he couldn't help the smile stuck on his face, nor that fluttering feeling in his chest.

***

A ten minutes later, Steve had pulled himself together; he went down to the table and signed.

He walked up the side of the track to go get his bike, and he sort of expected Bucky to be there – but he wasn't, and his bike was gone. Steve pushed his motorcycle back towards the locker rooms. He went back inside to collect his own stuff – and Bucky's locker was empty.

He felt something inside him drop, but he told himself he had been a fool to think what they just did could be something Bucky wanted to keep up. Yeah, Steve thought as he shoved his hoodie into the backpack with more force than the seams could take, that had been a one-stand and it felt amazing, and it was all he had wanted from Bucky from the beginning, and it was going to end like this, without a last kiss. And he was fine with that. Totally fine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long smut scene is long.
> 
> Come say hi on my [tumblr](http://didipenny.tumblr.com//) !


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